A Cry in the Dark
by ebonyflamez
Summary: WIP Sequal to Gabriel Angel has gone, running from his love and his life... is there any chance Spike will get him back?
1. Chapter 1

Pairing - A/S A/OC(Gabriel)

Disclaimer - only the story and the OCs are mine - I worship the God that is Joss who created and owns the characters we all love so much - so no offence meant!

Warning - Angst, Slash

_**Quick recap... **Spike/William pretty much raped Angelus over a century ago. Angel and Spike managed to work past this and entered a relationship, Angel as Spike's Claim. Life was good until the Scoobies showed up in LA, Angel began having visions and an old lover named Gabriel decided he wanted his Angel back. Angel ran... **A Broken Hallelujah & Gabriel...**_

_If you enjoy then please review..._

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**Mourning**

Los Angeles. You see it at night and it shines. Like a beacon. People are drawn to it. He couldn't understand that really. For him the lights of LA no longer shined that brightly. The world had taken on a dull edge. Dull edges were always more painful, they meant that the cut was no longer clean; it was jagged and split and uneven. Much like the scars he now bore. Scars which were very much self-inflicted. They say that time heals all wounds but they are very wrong. All time does is allow for the scabs to develop. No matter how much time passes, if the blade passes deep enough, then there is always a scar. Pink and ugly and raw against his pure alabaster skin. Time just allows for the holes to be filled in, but it can never undo the damage.

Four months. It had been four months and the ring and letter were still on the coffee table where He had left them. He hadn't dared move them. Everyone knew not to touch the relics, those sacred items that meant more than anything else in this huge unforgiving world. The apartment, this lofty eerie from which He used to watch his small world revolve, is now nothing more than a dead man's crypt. It's a shrine, a mausoleum, a tomb. Its purpose has changed. No longer is it home, not that it ever really was, but it is nothing like that anymore. Its sole inhabitant does nothing more than rest his head here. But it is not a home. A home is full of love and life. This place is home only to death and grief. It is a tomb, once which saints would envy – if only for its guardian.

His clothes still took up the wardrobe and dresser space but he didn't care... they were all he had left. All he had left... bits of cloth, a piece of paper and a band of silver... it wasn't enough. It wasn't anywhere near enough. His dark haired lover was gone and he had nothing tangible to hold on to anymore. The apartment no longer smelled of Him. It now reeked of cheap whisky and stale cigarettes and that glorious scent of honey and nutmeg had been washed away by time. Wesley's scent now clung to the huge CEO office - although he had had Angel's desk and chair replaced with his own, unwilling or unable to take Angel's position behind it. The cars, the Viper, had all been destroyed in a fortnight of drunken racing round the city to find Him. It had taken a crying slip of a girl hitting him with all of her grieving fury to make him realise that he wasn't the only one that was hurting. They all were.

Everyday he looked into the faces of people, his friends he guessed, and saw that something was missing from their lives. There was a certain spark that no longer shined. A certain... no there were no words that would define the magnitude of grief that they felt over what they missed from their lives. Each had taken loss in their stride before, but this was very different. This was a loss that could have been avoided but for their own actions. His especially. He saw it everyday; each of them had a glint in their eyes that held blame towards him. Whenever they had to work on a case, he could hear the unsaid accusation that Angel should be here. When it was decided that he would take point he felt the stares that wished he were Angel; that said he wasn't Angel, he never would be Angel and it was his fault that Angel was missing.

Wesley watched impassively as the lift doors slid silently open. He hated having to come up into this apartment. It had been bad enough when Angel had lived there, a fortressed cage for him to pass his nights in, but now it was foreboding. When they had arrived at the steel and glass bastion of Wolfram and Hart they had all agreed that the White Room was the one place that they would hate to be locked in over the weekend. He remembered that night fondly. There had been whiskey and tears and recriminations before bedtime but there had been laughter. Loud and raucous, it had echoed through the uninhabited building like a song. That echo had long since faded. Everything had. It was as if they were stuck in the depths of winter with no chance of every feeling the sun on their faces again. They lacked hope. This room, this apartment was the manifestation of that lack. No matter how bright the Californian sun shone, it didn't manage to pierce the darkness of this place. Spike's mood, Angel's loss, it all appeared in the very air of the penthouse and made it thick and heavy and stale with pain. It was the worst room in the world.

For a few moments he stood there, neither in nor out of the space and he just watched the blonde vampire as he sat staring out on the LA night. He knew what Spike was doing, he was trying to sense Angel. For a couple of weeks after Angel's disappearance, Spike had led the hunt for Angel, his blood link telling him that Angel was still within their range. The link had abruptly failed though and Spike had, like everyone else, been forced to sit back and wait for the Special Ops teams to do their work. Everyday progress reports had landed on his desk, five teams each moving in an ever increasing circle outwards, and none of them finding neither hide nor hair to indicate that the dark vampire had passed that way. They had tagged his bank accounts and credit cards and hoped that he would become desperate enough to use them – so far he hadn't. That worried Wesley more than the plain fact that Angel was missing. Angel was either hunting or, more worryingly, he wasn't eating. If he was no longer feeding, then after four months, nearly five, he must be close to starvation point. Through his studies as a Watcher he had read about how it only takes a healthy vampire a little over a month to appear famished and be severely weakened. But if Angel hadn't been feeding for nearly five months, Wesley dreaded to think what state he was now in. He would be starving, alone and probably very scared. And if the visions were still coming, then his mental state, not to mention his physical from the fights, would be at risk as well.

He had to tamp down on the anger that he felt towards the blonde demon. He, of all of them knew the real situation. He of all of them knew what Spike felt for Angel and what Angel felt for Spike. Wesley sighed. He had been against the relationship from the start and it had nothing to do with the fact that they were both male. No, it had everything to do with the fact that he didn't trust Spike not to hurt Angel. He still remembered the way they had sat in this room and Angel had stammered and stuttered trying to tell them that he and Spike were involved when Spike had just come out and said it. He had spent that entire evening sneaking glances at them, his worry growing as he saw the way Angel leaned into Spike. His first reaction to the news had been the most obvious – concern for Angel's soul, but as the evening had worn on he had grown more worried about Angel in Spike's care. If there was one thing true about Angel is was that he loved with his entire heart. Once someone had made it in there, into the most protected of all citadels, then they never escaped. Not even if they sent Angel to hell. Wesley could only dread to think what Spike could do with that power over Angel. His fears had only grown with watching Lorne. Those red eyes had tracked the blonde vampire non stop that first week, an unspoken threat hiding in those fiery orbs. Of course Lorne knew them all better than anyone else could hope to, who knew what he had been privy too when looking into Angel's head. But there was one thing that he knew; he knew that Lorne had not seen anything good. He knew that Lorne had seen pain, Angel's pain and he knew that Spike was a contributing factor. Now he knew the truth. Spike had always been the one with the ability to break Angel. He had almost broken him once, so long ago, and a hundred years later he had decided to finish the job.

But if Wesley was truthful, if he was brutally honest, it wasn't Spike that he was cross at. He wasn't cross at Spike for breaking Angel, or at Angel for allowing himself to be broken. He was cross at himself. He knew that if he had been any real friend, any true Watcher protecting their charge, he never would have allowed things to get so far. He could have said something to Spike so much earlier, rather than waiting for the dramatic showdown with the Scoobies. No, he was furious with himself for not sticking to his early judgements and telling Spike to stay away. He had cornered Spike with that precise intention the Tuesday after they had all been told the joyous news but he had allowed his resolve to be swayed by flowery prose spewed by a failed poet.

_He glanced at Angel's office. His beautiful dark haired lover was sat, eyes focused on a piece of paper, pen poised and a small smile on his luscious lips. Spike knew that he had put that smile there and he allowed his own smile to form as he tried to work out what it was that Angel was recalling. Was it a lazy, unhurried and inelegant kiss? Was it long hours of loving in the hazy sunlight that the blinds didn't block? Was it touching in the warm bath waters, the scent of lavender dancing in the steam? Was it all of it, all mixed into one hazy dream?_

"_I want to talk to you." _

_Wesley's voice gave no room for argument. Spike had to admit he was a little nervous around this Watcher, he had thought Rupert to be a dangerous man hiding behind layers of tweed and tea, but he had had nothing on Wesley's darkness. Two sets of blue eyes met and locked and enmity flared. Both were joined by one purpose and love and despite that Spike was under no illusion that Wesley wouldn't hesitate to stake him in a heartbeat. He blinked and turned back to Angel's office. He was starting out of the window now, just like he did every evening, watching the sun set over his city. Spike felt Wesley's icy gaze follow his._

"_Not here."_

_They had left the office on foot and walked in a frosty silence for almost twenty minutes until Spike opened the door to a bar that he had found and fallen in love with. It was a real English pub, not a novelty one, but one set up by a couple of ex-pats that had been in the city for a few years and missed the simple pleasures of home. They served real English ales, using real pumps – not the waste of space vortex taps that had the beer fizzing too much. They kept away from the weak yellow largers and served the rich deep brown and creamy drinks that Spike had missed so much. The scent of traditional British grub flowed into the room, mixing with the spilt ale and faint smell of wood and the smoke from the fire in the grate making him feel as though he was at home once more. If he had cared he would have seen the delight on Wesley's face at finding this slice of home so far away, but he didn't, he simply went to order and then took his pint and sat at a corner table._

_They talked for well over an hour as Spike tried to convince his fellow Englishman that he did love Angel. When that had failed he had tried to tell Percy to mind his own business, even going so far as to accuse him of jealousy at one point. In the end though, he had poured his heart out to Wesley, telling him the entire truth of how he felt._

"_Percy, I now have a chance… Listen mate, let me put it this way, William was a wanker. He was weak and pathetic and would have died of either old age, alone in his bed in the house he had grown up in, or he would have been killed by a thug when he tried to talk him out of takin' a woman's purse. Either way – he was a ponce, a flowery mummy's boy who I wouldn't have even bothered to bite, let alone turn. But I will say this for the muppet – he loved with all of his heart. He loved his mum and he loved that bitch Cecily and they were his world. For a bloody century I have had all of that inside of me and I wanted someone who could handle that kind of love – cos it isn't pretty. It's full on obsessive and dark and painful. But I don't think that I have to tell you that love is like that._

"_Tried to love Dru like that but she was insane – went off with a Chaos demon. She didn't want love, no matter if it came with chains and needle nose pliers. She wanted what Angelus gave her – she wanted that inhuman darkness, love was too human for her. Don't think she ever said she loved me… can't recall one time she said 'I love my Spike', not once. Then there was Buffy… she couldn't handle the darkness… funny that seein as how she was bein consumed by it. She thought that love was all flowers and candy hearts. Never realised that it was pain and blood and tears and passion as well as the soft stuff… But Angel… Angel wants it. He craves it cos he loves like that too. He wants someone who wants nothing from him but love._

_I don't need a Champion, or a protector or even a Sire… I don't want it. I know what the world is like, lived and died in it. I've seen the worst of the worst and the best of all that is good and bright. Angel is one of them, one of the last heroes, one of the best of them. All I want, all I need is Angel. His heart, his body, his mind, his torn up, broken down soul. I wanna hold them and keep 'em safe from the world. Wanna take him from the world cos it doesn't deserve him._

_That's it, that's all I have. I can't give him anything, all I can do is love him, hold him when he cries, be there when he needs to lash out and throw down, and kiss him when his soul bleeds. I'm Love's Bitch Wesley, and I am well and truly whipped this time."_

Wesley didn't know whether it was the room, the alcohol, the frighteningly intense azure gaze or whether it was simply that that was the most he had ever heard Spike say and it had come from the heart. Spike had danced between his affected cockney to a soft gentle voice, but no matter how he had spoken he had meant those words. They had been an outpouring he couldn't take back; they had flitted from thought to thought in a rambling stream but at the end… at the end Wesley had been convinced that Spike did truly love Angel. He saw it whenever he said that name; a small smile, no more than the upturning of the corners of his mouth, and a little sparkle in his eyes. There had been no talk of promises, no threats of stringing Wesley up by his knackers if he tried to stop this, just the purity of speech.

Love.

He had seen it again the morning that Wesley felt his heart break for the first time. He had come up to the penthouse to tell Spike to leave and he had found him sat on the sofa staring at a piece of paper, twirling something through his fingers that sent little rays of light spinning off into the room. There was a blank glaze over Spike's eyes and for a horrible few minutes he thought Angel was dead. He had shook Spike, yelled at him, tried to break his catatonia but in the end Spike had slumped down into the cushions as Wesley let him go in favour of the note. It had been the bravest thing that he had ever had to do and when he had finished, he could do no more that pull the vampire to him and cry into his shoulder. He had felt the tears that began to seep through his shirt, hot and salty as Spike finally broke. He trembled and shook and scream and Wes held him as he had done Angel.

Tears sealed their new bond, the two that loved Angel the most, and the two that would miss him the most. Wes had lost a brother, friend, ally and boss. Spike had lost a Sire, Claim, soul mate and brother in arms. Both were hurt. Both were mourning. Both were lost. But despite that brotherhood they now had as the two who knew everything of what had happened, as Spike had refused to allow anyone else near the note, or even in the penthouse, Wes was still angry. More importantly he felt betrayed. Yet every time he saw Spike when the vampire had let his guard down, the unrestrained misery had his traitorous heart flying to the vampire. He knew that the only thing that stopped Spike walking into the sun was the promise Angel would come back when he had sorted himself out. One night after a lot of whiskey Spike had told him that he wouldn't hold it against Angel if he never came back, but that he was proud Angel was doing this. He knew that had they carried on, eventually Angel would have hated him and Spike would have hated himself and their bond would have destroyed them both. Wes had been shocked at the maturity of the vampire, and that had been the seal on his forgiveness… had Spike not seen this he knew that he would never have been willing for the vampire to stay. He would have rang Italy and had Buffy come and collect him, like she wanted to when he had to field the calls that Spike refused to take.

Only Wes and Fred got near the vampire now. Of the LA group they were the only ones who were willing to check on him, even Harmony felt betrayed and Lorne's limitless good nature was not moving past the hurt he had seen on Angel's face that last night. Only they checked on him day after day, invited him out, made him fight with them. Although they never had to make him do that – he wanted to keep them safe for Angel. It was the last real thing he had of Angel in the world, and no matter how many times Gunn told him to take a mid day stroll, he was always there when they needed him. Now it was his turn to betray Spike. He hadn't done anything… other than not fought hard enough to stop this outcome. He knew that what the folder he held would probably destroy the vampire all the more. In fact, he suspected that he would be lucky to get out of their alive. It wouldn't matter that he had contacted Willow and Faith and had a new search on hand; he had still failed Spike because he had failed Angel.

He coughed. Spike didn't acknowledge him; he was staring at the worn paper… like he did every night he wasn't hunting with them. Wes knew that Spike sat there until dawn broke the night sky, waiting and hoping that the new day would bring Angel home to him… or if not Angel then at least news of him.

"Spike?"

He waited for a response, but none came. Spike was lost for the moment. Wes moved into the room and went over to where Spike was sitting. He could now see what had Spike so enthralled. It was the sketch book Angel had shown him… it was Gabriel's face.

"Spike?"

There was a long period of silence until Spike broke it. His voice was gravely and almost broken, but it resonated with the anguish of a thousand broken hearts.

"Do you think that he'll look after him?"

"We don't know that he is with Gabriel Spike."

"No. We don't know anything do we?" The contempt was back, thick and heavy. It fuelled Wesley's anger once more.

"No Spike, we don't. Angel does not want to be found – he made that clear in that note you clutch like a talisman. He has vanished and we all know why. So stop throwing tantrums! If Angel doesn't want to be found then…" He trailed off as he caught onto Spike's game. He wanted someone to yell at him, to tell him it was all his fault, to fight him… maybe even stake him. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose – it had been a long day. "He will come back Spike, but not until he is ready. He needs to heal. You need him to heal – otherwise you might never have a chance to regain what you lost. Angel loves you, don't forget that. Don't forget that when Angel loves, nothing ever leaves his heart… and that not many are lucky enough to get in there."

He paused to let the validity of his words sink in. When Spike nodded slowly, he braved the Gabriel part of the question.

"But… if he is with Gabriel…" He saw the flash of gold in the dark. "If he is with Gabriel, then at least he is safe. You may not like the idea of them together, but I would rather Angel be under the protection of one hell of a powerful vampire than wandering the streets alone! Gabriel may be a vampire but he will not harm Angel… you know that as well as I do."

Spike had nothing to say to that. Wesley was right, he hadn't even met the vampire but he had felt the love that he had for Angel through a growl and a door. If he had to lose Angel, at least it was someone who would cherish and protect him. He knew Wesley well enough to know that if he would sanction Gabriel, then the vampire had to love Angel very much. Wes guarded Angel more fiercely than Cerberus… only the worthy could pass him. He merely nodded.

"Want a drink?"

"No… I can't stay… umm… I brought this."

He placed the folder on to the table and backed up.

"Why do I think that that won't tell me I've won the lottery?"

"I'm sorry Spike… I couldn't…"

"Get out."

"Now, hold on…"

"Out Watcher."

Wesley knew that voice. Low and silky and sharper than a scalpel. Spike was near to snapping point and Wes knew not to push it. Unlike Angel, Spike didn't necessarily draw the line at a scathing comment.

"Well I just leave it here then. Goodnight." He paused; he really didn't want to leave it like this. "I'm sorry… I miss him too."

Wes left the penthouse, his head hung low. The folder that he brought up lay untouched for a few moments. Spike filled up his tumbler, holding it for a minute before downing the contents and then hurling the glass at the wall above the wet bar. The shattering of glass fragmented the stillness and quiet of the apartment and a rain of tinkling crystal echoed before everything went quiet. He picked the file up and read the main bullet points of the official Wolfram and Hart memo.

1) Meeting of the Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart...

A low growl began in his throat at this.

2) Wesley Wyndham-Price is to take the full position of CEO of the LA branch of...

The rumble from his chest danced across the LA night followed soon after by the flash of lightning.

3) The search for Angel is unsuccessful. Time and resources... waste of man power... TERMINATED.

Spike's scream of agony at this news flooded out on to the wind and danced through the air. Nature replied to his cry...

The rain began to fall.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hey there... sorry that it has been so long but RL has been kinda tough for the past forever really. I am still writing though so don't worry too much and I promised myself that if I started this I would finish it. Just as a little note, I usually update my LJ quicker than elsewhere - ebonyflames. - if you wanna look!**_

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Chapter 2_**

_It echoed through the city. Carried on invisible wings it swept over everyone. It resonated through the hearts and minds of the rich and the poor, the old and the young, the frail and the strong and as it travelled it gathered power. Its call attracted followers from all walks of life, speaking to each of them in their own language. To some it was the trumpeting of the horn heralding a new era, a better life for all. To others it was the trumpet of doom that told them that their time was long past. To one individual it was nothing more than entertainment. He had watched over the past few months as the call had resounded through the city like the cry of an injured wolf. By some it was considered a dangerous thing that must be avoided at all costs but to others it was the chance to play the hero and it amused him. Every night it was one of the first things that he heard when he awoke to the new night. Sometimes it was loud and sometimes quiet… but it was always there. It was the new pulse of the city that he had adopted as his own. Tonight was no different. It was still there. Not as loud as usual but still there, a silent drum that all were marching to whether they liked it or not. From his rooftop home his sharp hearing had picked up the call of the students in the night time streets below him as they tried to stir up the people with their ideas about the Enlightenment and the way that people should be living their lives. He had to admit their arguments were persuasive but he didn't quite believe that they would ever achieve their ideals of a Utopian society, it would take an eternity to achieve such a dream and they hardly had that. They didn't even understand what the real evils in the world were, they thought that the nobility were one of the main protagonists of the peoples suffering; they would probably be a little quieter if they knew that the real demons could hear them. If a utopian society was to be founded then he supposed that it would have to be the demons that created it… they had the time and the strength to achieve such a feat, humans were as insignificant as the light rain that was beginning to fall. _

_Stepping out on to the balcony of his lofty home he stretched, cracking his muscles out of their daytime lethargy. It was the first night in a long while where he had awoken refreshed. For the past fortnight he had gained very little peace during the day. His skin had prickled as though healing from a burn and his blood had run hot and icy cold and he had sweated and shook despite the balmy spring days that they were experiencing. It had seemed to him as though he was suffering some kind of human malady but he knew that was impossible – given that he hadn't been human in so long and he wasn't even sure that his species were actually susceptible to any kind of illness. Even though he had comforted himself with that thought he had decided that if anything more occurred he would look into it properly… But tonight it seemed as though his fears had been unfounded. There were no more foreign whispers in his mind and his body was once more under his control. He allowed himself to exhale and drain the tension from his body. As he stood on the balcony of his roof top home he let hi cat like eyes surveyed the city that he had called home for the past few centuries. _

_He had not had the fortune to be born in the sprawling metropolis, no he had been born in a nowhere land, devoid of art and culture where the people had been happy to spend their short days tending to their crops and livestock. He hadn't realised how much he had missed, how little he had lived until he had left. Seeing the world through new and brighter eyes, he had learnt about more things than he ever believed could exist. But it had been Paris that had ensnared him. Not until he had wandered down its dirty streets, avoiding the whores and the beggars and almost being mowed down by the carriages of the rich had he understood the true power of a Siren, but she was his. And now, after all the years she was more his home than any other place that he had visited and the life that seemed to vibrate in the city called his name. As he watched the lights twinkle and listened to the cacophony of noise that vibrated from the streets so far below his feet he wished, and not for the first time, that he had been born in the city, that he could be classed as a true son of the magnificent beast, but he was quite willing for time and the passing centuries to do that for him. One way or another there would be a day when he was referred to as a Parisian._

_Bored of his introspection the vampire turned back inside. From a large armoire he pulled a thick woollen coat, scented with amber from the little bag that rested in the bottom. Pulling it on, he let the thick fabric settle mantle like over his regal form before stepping out into dark night and dropping from his nest to the streets below. He loved the smell of the night; it was always so much crisper than the day, not so clogged up with hustle and bustle of daily life. At night you could really smell what the city held and this night held the promise of…discovery… Lifting his head again he took a deeper breath, filling his nostrils with the varying aromas that told the tale of everyone from stale rotting beggars to fattened sweet barons. It was odd but there was something not quite right with the aroma of the city tonight, there was a scent that stood out so much more than all the others and like the song of Pisinoe, was luring him deeper and deeper into the city. It was… he couldn't clarify what it was that he could smell. It was sweet like the pastries and cakes the rich were able to gorge themselves upon whilst the poor fell hungry at their feet. It was thick, cloying like blood in the back of his throat and exploding over his taste buds like the first kill of the night. It was ripe like summer apples and fat oranges and yet there was a sour note to it, a staleness that was completely contradictory to everything else. His curiosity and senses aroused he couldn't do anything but follow the alluring scent deep into the squalid dark of the city._

_Like the most tenacious bloodhound he tracked the scent, pursuing it down every ramshackle alley, over bridges and down streets even the most starved demon would hesitate before entering. The trail flew all over the city, eager and exploratory as it mapped its way around the capital. Eventually it seemed to calm leading him through one of the more ignominious areas of the city and into a small darkened tavern. A look of disdain crossed the vampires elegant features as he took in the building, his straight nose crinkling at the odour of stale ale and piss that were emblazoned around the had it been any other moment in time he knew that he wouldn't have even dreamed of crossing the threshold of such an establishment not even to escape the rays of the sun but unfortunately for him his quarry was hiding within the dirty brick walls and he was consumed by his thirst for knowledge. It was the type of place that bred all manner of disease and not just the pathogens. The humans that inhabited the place were some of the lowest life forms that any population could spew forth and he imagined that the same would have to be said for any demon that decided to patronise such an establishment even if they were only there for a quick snack. He could hear the raucous laughter of the drinkers from the outside and the stench of stale ale was overwhelming to his powerful senses. The door opened, vomiting one of the patrons to his feet as the man lurched through the wooden door and collided with the still figure of the vampire, still wrestling with the idea of entering. Using the vampires coat for leverage the dirty creature pulled himself to his feet, smiling a drunken grin into the feline face and exhaling a greasy breath of rotten teeth and alcohol. Contempt for the creature before him flared in his gut, his teeth itching with fury at the audacity of the man to use him as a prop. With a start he realised he had yet to feed, so consumed in his hunt he had ignored his thirst. Cursing the Powers he crushed the unkempt figure to his strong chest, used the lanky hair he yanked the man's head to the side before sinking his teeth into the thin throat. _

_Blood filled his mouth, rich and thick despite the ill health of its host. He could taste the undercurrent of ale that seemed to be the man's staple diet as he gulped down mouthfuls of life. He felt the man buckle against him as he swooned from the blood loss and he tightened his grip, hearing brittle ribs snap under his arms. Inevitably there came the wet rasping sounds from the mans lungs as he tried to suck air into his failing body, his heart working faster as it pumped the blood into the waiting mouth. He heard the heart slow, the once rhythmic thumps now sporadic and slow and he dropped the barely alive corpse to the ground, toeing the dying man into the gutter before the heart gave out. Some vampires loved that last draught as the heart gave up its final precious drops but his family found it intolerable. They found it bitter and sickening and for the younger ones amongst them it could often be painful. The tip of a pink tongue swiped at the corners of his mouth as he turned his attention back to the hostelry in front of him. There was nothing about that place that appealed to him; there was nothing that made him want to enter through its darkened doors. Curiosity, however, overrode his natural inclination to avoid the den and find out what had drawn him here. And now that his stomach was sated there was nothing preventing him from doing so._

_The bar was lit with a few sparse candles and the occasional oil lamp, throwing welcomed shadows across the majority of the large room for those customers who didn't t want to share either their business or their identities with the rest of the world. He too found the lack of illumination rather comforting as it would allow him to identify and observe his quarry without revealing himself. As he swept the room with a cursory glance he noticed with some relief that there were plenty of unoccupied corners he could nestle into as he whiled his time there, and hopefully he would be able to pass the entirety of his visit unnoticed by all. His glance also confirmed one other thing to him as he settled himself into one of the darker corners of the tavern, there was nothing out of the ordinary within this place. Except for the rancid smell that he was doing his very best to ignore. Apart from the scent of whoever he was tracking there was nothing in the room to indicate who it was, there was no trace of any creature of sufficient power magical or otherwise that would be able to charm him to this very place so ably. And that left him very confused. Had he walked into this dark little den and found a warlock or powerful demon he may have been able to understand why his senses had picked up on the creature, but he could feel nothing. There was only the sweet and sour scent to tell him that he had indeed come to the correct place. That very fact heightened his curiosity further. Because there was no fresh magic in the air, the creature that was calling to him was doing so subconsciously. It was totally unaware of both its own power and his presence and that very fact made the hunt all the more worthwhile. _

_As he settled down into his darkened corner, pulling his coat tighter around him and melding with the shadows, he took his time to observe the taverns patrons. He deftly avoided catching the eyes of anyone but took his time to study them all individually, determined to find his Siren. His attention was finally drawn to his immediate right. Shrouded in the dark of the intimate corner sat a young couple, far too preoccupied by the journey that the young mans hand was making up the girls leg to be paying any attention to the refined predator that sat so close to them. As their lust built and peppered the air with its salty tang he found himself forgetting what had brought him here and focusing solely on the amorous tryst he was privy to. He allowed his mind to wander, drift effortless out of his own body and towards the pair, revelling in the pleasure that both parties were experiencing. He couldn't help it as he wrapped his consciousness around both minds so effortlessly, as naturally as breathing had once been, and sinking into them, becoming more than an impartial bystander to their arousal. Colours burst behind his eyes, rich reds and passionate purples betrayed the small explosions the man's finger on the woman's sex created to the shadowed watcher and he felt his heart beat in answer to their passion. He panted with them, shallow breaths of air he didn't need but had to take, had to taste the air they gave off. The honeyed sap from the woman's core stirring at his hunger as the man moved his hand faster, letting her bucking quivering form sate his own pleasure as he worked her. The purples and reds spiralled out of control, kaleidoscopes of colour brightening into a blinding white as they both neared completion._

_Muffled groans of pleasure permeated the thick fog around him as he found himself shocked out of their minds and toppled off his chair as a powerful force punched him from their consciousnesses. He imagined that the force of the blow was how a punch from a vampire felt to a human as he righted himself, gracefully pulling himself up and standing his toppled chair. He was relieved that his clumsy indiscretion had gone as unnoticed as the couples climax but noted with some remorse that his brutal expulsion from their minds had left both humans wincing with pain as their afterglow faded. More determined than ever, his eyes flicked wildly round the small dim room until they settled on a young brunette sat at a table of rambunctious card players laughing and drinking as if he were one of them. It was a shock to the elder vampire to find out that he really wasn't; as for all of his animated chatter suggested, the young man was in fact a young vampire. _

_A lone, young vampire. _

_A part of him was appalled by the way in which the Childe, for there was no possibility he was anything less, had integrated himself with the humans that surrounded him. He was laughing and chatting with them as if he were a life long friend, guzzling at the ale before him and flicking card after card onto the stained tabletop. He became more affronted as it dawned on him that the Childe was doing this for no other reason than he wanted to. His charade was not part of some long winded hunt nor was it part of some obscure challenge. It was perfectly obvious that the young vampire was sat with the very canker of humanity for the very simple reason that he wanted to. It disgusted him as much as it intrigued him no normal Childe would ever lower himself to do such a thing._

_And then it happened. It was nothing momentous, nothing earth shattering but the simple action of the Childe tipping his head back and laughing, a deep belly laugh that made his eyes sparkle and his red lips open wide, sent his world spinning off its axis. He knew at that moment that those dark laughing eyes would be forever burning in his mind..._

Small spatters. Insignificant really. Miniscule.

Tiny droplets hit his long wool coat leaving shimmering specks as they soaked into the expensive fabric. He ignored it. At any other time the water would have been an annoyance as the weather cost him yet another valuable piece of clothing but tonight it was a welcomed relief. The rain hid the tears that threatened to gather, the wind howled tales of his frustration for the entire city to hear and at almost a thousand feet above the ground, and the air had an icy edge that was as sharp as any blade could ever hope to be. Had he been softer he imagined that it may had cut into him but he had hardened to the elements a long time ago. And, even if he hadn't, the past six months of running and searching would have had some effect. This wasn't the first building he had stood on the top of since that night in L.A. so long ago. It wasn't even the 21st. But even if it were the one hundredth, one thousandth, one millionth he wouldn't stop. He would never stop until he had his Childe back where he belonged. But he could feel it this time. The end to the hunt was coming close and his blood was racing as he thought of the prize that the finish line possessed. His quarry had to be tiring. Even a vampire his age would be weakened by constant running for almost seven months, the absence of food and resources would take its toll on any creature

And that didn't even begin to cover the suffering that his prey had been through before he had run.

Gabriel shivered as the cold of the night finally made its way past his thick coat. Seattle wasn't the warmest of cities in winter but he had endured worse and would endure worse to find Angel again. His sharp green eyes scanned the distant horizon. Even from his spot on the top of the Bank of America Building he could make out the people as they moved through their lives far below him. The humdrum cacophony of daily life echoed in his ears and he could even smell blood as it was carelessly split somewhere on the streets below him. It amazed him still at how humans lived in this day and age. They rushed through life focusing on work and money and when their short time was spent they lamented missing out on the important things. On missing out on their child's first play or their father's birthday party. Over and over the same regrets were spilled as a deathbed confession. He saw it swirl through their minds as he drained them of their life and every time it truly amazed him. Day after day humans created more and more gadgets with which to make their lives easier. They could cook an entire meal within 2 minutes and yet they still had no time for the important things in their lives. Well, Gabriel planned to make use of his observations on humanity. Even though he had eternity, he still did not plan on wasting a single moment with his Childe. He had already wasted two centuries he didn't plan on wasting a third.

A stronger gust of wind whipped at his coat yet he refused to move from his position. If he moved then he may miss out on a crucial piece of information. If he dared to breathe he might miss that one tell-tale sign that would end his months of suffering. He simply closed his eyes and ears to the world and let his mind fall far away following the elusive trail of familial blood as Angel continued his flight. But there was nothing there, just the faint call that told him Angel was still in Seattle.

He had waited 240 years to have Angel and over all those years the memories of the first time he had seen the vampire had yet to fade. He had known from the very moment he had seen him that they were meant for one another. But Fate, as it would happen, had different ideas. It had taken him so long to convince the Elders of his innocence regarding the debacle over Liam. Naturally they had been inclined to believe Nest, he was an Order Master and the boy's Grand-Sire, not to mention a powerful foe. The Council had been hard pressed to reject his claims on the boy, knowing that his volatile temper should he not get what he and his Childe were rightfully demanding would threaten the very stability that the Council had worked so hard to achieve. He had been mortified when they had ruled that Liam was to return to his Sire and a dark rage had settled over him that day… a darkness that hadn't truly lifted until he had seen Angel stood on that rooftop in LA. Fate though seemed to have a twisted sense of humour. After years of arguing, pleading and debating he had finally convinced the Council and his own Elders that he had been innocent and that they should allow him to have his prize, yet it was ironically held away from him, trapped behind the strength of a Claim initiated by a small white-haired vampire who didn't appreciate what he had.

He couldn't help the snarl that rumbled over his lips as he remembered Angel's red eyes and tear stained cheeks as he heard the tale of the pain his boy had been through since they had first met. His boy had been sent to Hell both literally and figuratively and Gabriel cursed his own Order in every language he knew because he knew, deep in his gut, that had they not stood in his way all those years ago, so much suffering both Angels and his victims could have been avoided. He knew that if his search brought him upon that creature that had caused the most recent of Angel's wounds he wouldn't hesitate in destroying the white-haired vampire in the most painful way he could devise. He had been ready to do so that night at the ghost's apartment. But the sight of Angel, a broken shell of the creature that he should have been, kneeling at his feet no longer having the strength to stand and begging for him to understand, had ripped into the very heart of him. He was unable to bring anymore hurt to his Childe. So for the first time in his five centuries on the Earth, Gabriel had walked away from the fight.

Only to have Angel flee from him as soon as they were safe…

He had howled at the moon that night anger and frustration erupting from him in a cry that chilled the very hearts of those who had hurt him. It was the very echo of the wail that he had let out the first time Angel had been taken from him. It was the soul-wrenching sound of Sire losing their Childe.

He had mourned the loss of Liam as if he had already managed to turn him into his Childe, even though their relationship had consisted of nothing more than sharing a bed and one another's bodies and occasionally blood for a little more than a year. It had been an unnatural relationship for both vampires to be a part of, especially considering the number of Council rules that it had broken, but neither had been able nor willing to walk away from it. For a year following the Elders ruling he had been depressed, his days were as black as his nights and all he could see was an eternity of nothing stretched out before him in long shadowed nights. He had been so despondent he had been on the verge of suicidal. He had refused to hunt, had starved himself for weeks on end and had even gone so far as to try to walk out into the sun.

An irate older brother had been all that had stood between him and immolation.

His brother had been furious, but his hazel eyes had lost their cockiness and were filled with fear. His tawny skin was ashen and his hair unkempt and his usually pristine clothes were torn and dirty from day after day of wear. In other words he was frantic with worry for his younger sibling and had done the only thing in his power to do. He had called their Sire home. Tristan had raced over the continent as soon as he received the summons from his eldest Childe and had taken one look at both of his Childer before chaining Gabriel to the wall of their cellar. He had heard the debates in the Council and he had believed that his youngest and perhaps most headstrong Childe had indeed stolen the young vampire, that was until his Favoured had laid into him. Lucien had told him of the state Gabriel had been in ever since the ruling had been passed. He had told his Sire of the sleepless days, scream filled nights and utter torment his young sibling seemed to be going through. He had watched with wide hazel eyes as his words stirred his Sire into a deepening rage. Tristan had practically ripped the chains from their brackets before taking his distraught Childe into his arms and feeding him from his own veins.

He had forced fed his youngest from his veins for over two weeks before he had sat down and spoken with Gabriel, and his heart had broken as his youngest had poured out his grief in a huge gasping sobs. He had held the trembling vampire tight against him as Gabriel spoke with such passion about Liam. He had described the first time that he had seen the dark wild boy. He had described in every detail the way the other vampire moved, that at first glance one would think he was the most arrogant devil to ever walk the earth. But Gabriel spoke of the quiet vulnerability he had spied, the desperate need for love that had filled those dark eyes. He spoke of the obsession that had overtaken him upon the dawning of every new night. The fact that he had had to see his wild boy before he could even contemplate feeding, no matter if finding him had taken all night.

And the rage, the blood red fury that had clouded his vision when he had spied that group of minions closing in on the unwary Childe. Gabriel had swept through them with the ferocity of a hurricane, not caring about causing them pain but ensuring that they were wiped off the face of the earth.

_As the dust settled at his feet Gabriel whirled round, his dark golden eyes turning back to their natural viridian, his fangs receding, as he took in the crumpled form of the Childe in the alley way. His beautiful face was marred with cuts and bruises where the ferals had managed to get their claws into him, dark welts against the creamy perfection of his skin. His fine clothes were torn and tattered, hints of tempting flesh calling to Gabriel through the tears. With a trembling hand he swept some of the unruly dark locks away from the face they were trying to hide, his thumb lingering as it traced one angular cheekbone and swept over the full lips. He watched as the soft black eyelashes fluttered, and a soft smile curved onto his face._

"_Shh… hush now little one… your safe… Gabriel has you… sleep now my beautiful boy." _

_He picked the young vampire up off the cold floor and cradled him gently in his arms. He didn't see anything other than the dark haired youth, astonishing in his beauty, as he let his feet guide them back to his nest._

As Gabriel told Tristan of how he had seen Liam, so young, so promising, wandering the streets of his home city and how fascinated he had been by Liam, Tristan realised one thing – it was more than fascination. Gabriel told him everything – about Liam's thirst for knowledge, his passion for the hunt, his eye for and his love of beauty – from the whore on the corner to the majestic architecture of the Sun King's Palace. It was clear in Gabriel's voice that he was captivated; he was totally and utterly entranced and unable to control himself because of it. He smiled as he described how the brunette had smiled, he chuckled when he spoke of the things that had made Liam laugh and he had obviously fallen in love with the city once again as Paris had charmed the young vampire.

All vampires had a bond with those that they turned but Dagon vampires had a very distinct Sire Childe relationship. All vampires had to worship their Sire; it was a thrall that came with the transfer of blood from one to the other. For most vampires it was a subliminal method of control, a way to guarantee that they always held their Childe in complete submission. But for Dagon vampire's it was very different. They loved their Sire's, but only the smallest part of that had anything to do with submission – it simply was familial love. For some it never grew beyond a parental/child bond but for others it was a torrid and passionate affair. But the unique quality of the Sire Childe bond for The Order of Dagon was that Childer held their Sire's in thrall. From the moment that they were first seen as a human, sometimes even merely sensed, the vampire that was to become their Sire was infatuated with them. They inevitably stalked them, watching over them and ensuring that no harm came to them before they were ready to be turned. Then they couldn't leave their Childe alone. For the first twenty years of life it was unheard of for a Dagon vampire to leave their Sire's side, purely because the bond was so strong and the Sire simply couldn't bear the separation. The intensity of the relationship gradually faded to become what it was meant to be – familial or passionate – by the time the Childe reached the age of 100 and from that point on the relationship between the two was mutually agreed upon, with the Sire and Childe taking leave of one another whenever they chose to. It only tended to be the Favoured that stayed in close contact with their Sires.

Tristan realised that Gabriel was in Liam's thrall, and the only way for the thrall to be broken was for Gabriel to lay claim to Liam as Fate intended him to. The dark haired Irish fledge had utterly enthralled and ensnared his Childe. He had crawled into his blood and was destined to remain there until both of them were dust. There was nothing that could be done about that now. Fate had wanted them to meet; she was the one who had sent Liam's siren song out on to the night wind for Gabriel to follow. But Fate was also a cruel Mistress. She could make someone as easy as she would break them. Bough and bark bent to her commands and no one could go against her will. Gabriel was destined to suffer. He was ordained to wait until the world was ready to unite him and his Childe, and Tristan couldn't think of a worse fate for any creature that roamed the earth. He knew how it pained him every time his Childer took their leave – and Gabriel was his youngest at nearly three centuries of age. He had walked the Earth for a millennium and had never felt anything as wrenching as watching his Childer leave him. He couldn't imagine the pain Gabriel was in. To have found his Childe and be denied… it must be agony.

As his youngest fell into his arms he saw the true depth of pain blazing in Lucien's wide eyes. He held out his hand to his favoured and brought them all together, a family bound by one another's triumphs and pains. And this was one of the more painful times. He ran his hands through the unruly hair and held both of his boys tight to him, trying to work out what he could do to alleviate their pain. Unfortunately for all of them though, the Elders had already ruled that Gabriel was to leave Liam alone and it was unlikely that either Darla or Nest would allow him anywhere near. If Tristan and Lucien were to help Gabriel then they would have to play within the Court rules and that meant that whatever answer was given, it would be a long time coming.

And now it had come, after so many years of waiting it was here, the time that Gabriel had longed for. Angel was to be his. Angel was his. His blood now ran in the boy's veins. His marks lingered on the pale throat. His lineage was traced in every pale blue line that ran through the body. He knew that. But it didn't help. Angel was still missing and Gabriel was helpless. All he could do was watch and wait and hope that the blood pound round Angel's system would let its own cry out into the night, calling Gabriel to him.

He opened his eyes once more, focusing and narrowing them into cat like slits. He cocked his head as he listened. There.

With a small smile he dropped off the roof, plummeting to the ground below, as silently as the rain that fell.


End file.
